


Danger zone

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Getting Back Together, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Sad Michael, Sexual Tension, Smut, They Say The L-word, Trevor Being A Bossy Lil' Bitch, Trevor Has Feelings, drinking as a coping mechanism, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Michael's kicked out of his own house the third time this week by Amanda, and, desperate to drown his sorrows in booze, he calls Trevor to come to his rescue. They go to a bar, and a few drinks later, they decide to take into a motel.I just had to write more stuff with my boys, I hope you like it as much as I do!
Relationships: Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa, Michael De Santa & Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 13
Kudos: 123





	1. Got you jumpin' off the track and shovin' into overdrive

Michael cursed beneath his breath - futile words swept away by the wind - as he was kicked out of his own home by his own wife. His blood was boiling with such an immense amount of anger and self-hatred that anyone who hadn’t been used to the feeling for most of their life would blow their brains out, were they in Michael’s shoes. Michael was more than accustomed to this, however. To looking down at his trembling hands and registering his own hitched breathing, heavy with remorse, to sitting on the curb outside the gates to his house and moping, feeling sorry for himself. That didn’t mean he was content with it, mind you. In fact, he had to get out of there right now before he did something he wouldn’t even be around afterward to regret.

He could barely hold his goddamn phone steady as he scrolled through his contacts to find the one he was looking for. Only an insane person would call their psychotic best friend who did nothing to his self-esteem but help break down what little of it was left at a time like this. Michael’s been told, both by family and professionals, that he was self-destructive. Perhaps _this_ was what they meant by that.

“C’mon T, pick up…” Michael growled between gritted teeth, a borderline plea, and thankfully, the call got through.

“Mikey! What an unpleasant surprise!”

Although it was posed as an insult, Michael could hear the razor-sharp grin in his voice, and it already grounded him. However, he needed more than just a phone call to even feel close to alright. Maybe pour a bottle of liquor in him and give him a talk with Trevor that didn’t end in a fight and then you’d be going somewhere. Michael couldn’t promise that this _somewhere_ was good or healthy, but right now, he didn’t care. He asked Trevor to come pick him up, feeling like a kid calling their mom at a party gone wild, but his voice was drowned out by traffic. Was Trevor driving?

“Come again, Porkchop? Y’know, I _really_ shouldn’t be on the phone when I’m going by at 120 miles per hour,” jabbed Trevor and proceeded to cuss at someone who honked at him in the background. The answer was yes. Yes, he was driving. Michael swallowed, his throat tight and his tone dripping in urgency as he spoke again, slightly louder this time.

“Look, I’m not in a good space right now.”

“When are you ever?” retorted Trevor, snickering.

“Trev, I need you,” Michael begged, too fucked up right now to be ashamed of his despair, his pleading, and the line went quiet for a moment, save for the sounds of traffic.

“Where are you?” Trevor asked then, concern bleeding into his tone.

“Outside my house.”

“Be there in a minute,” promised Trevor, skipping any usual bickering back and forth they traditionally do any time they talk and hanging up to hopefully focus on his driving - maybe then he _wouldn’t_ run someone over today.

Michael didn’t have time to analyze his fight with Amanda and fully break down on the sidewalk before Trevor was there, tires screeching as he came to a halt. He was like a white knight but on a small, mud-stained, orange Vespa, and Michael snorted at the image of it. His best friend, on the other hand, was panting as if he’d just ran a marathon, his hair unkept from riding without a helmet, and his eyes wide and worried as they took Michael in.

“Jesus, you look like shit, M.”

Michael couldn’t argue with that.

“Thanks, T. I match your ride pretty well then,” he countered with and Trevor looked down to take in the sight of his vehicle as if he hadn’t given it a second thought. He shrugged.

“I nabbed this from some hipster motherfucker, was out doing stuff. Sorry I didn’t think to get the rich man a limo before comin’ to your rescue.”

But his words lacked bite and Trevor shot him a rare, lopsided grin, extending a hand out to help Michael up from the curb. _He’s pitying you and you’re eating it out of his hand like a dumb dog,_ Michael’s mind unhelpfully noted, but Michael was too put out to ponder on if it was the truth or not. So instead, he grabbed Trevor’s hand, hoisting himself up and onto his bike.

* * *

Moments later, they were whistling down the highway, Trevor with a stern, unreadable expression on his face in the rearview mirror and Michael behind him on the Vespa. He wasn’t holding onto Trevor like one _should_ , being a second passenger on this ridiculously tiny ride, but instead, he chose to hug the seat beneath him.

“Put your arms ‘round my waist instead, I don’t wanna have to scrape your flattened corpse off the road,” Trevor yelled, coming through clear even at the speed he was keeping, and Michael’s face flushed hot - something he was unable to blame on the hot Los Santos summer since he was constantly provided with cool air while they were driving. He shook his head no in a knee-jerk reaction, fear and what-ifs guiding his decision-making.

“I’m good like this, T.”

 _You_ _coward_.

“Suit yourself,” replied Trevor, revving up the engine and bumping up the speed just to show Michael how stupid he was being, and Michael yelped at the change of pace, digging his fingers deeper into the leather of the seat. Yeah, he was stupid, but he already knew that. One could argue that calling Trevor would be the dumbest, most illogical decision he made that night, but there was far more to come.

* * *

“Simon! Two glasses of the strongest liquor you got in here, pronto!” shouted Trevor as a greeting to the barkeep, sliding himself onto one of the barstools with Michael in tow. Before they went inside the bar, Trevor had asked if Michael really wanted to be here of all places, with the state he was in. But with a stern nod and one word: “Alcohol” in response, Trevor got it, and that was that. See, this is what Amanda _should_ be like. She should get that everything in life can’t be solved with yoga and that sometimes, Mike needed to be miserable to appreciate the good times. Which were very few, but there all the same.

 _Fucking Hell._ When did he get to the point of comparing his best friend to his wife? Michael wasn’t sure if he needed a bottle of scotch, a lay, a good cry, or a hug right now. It might just be all of the above.

Two glasses of whiskey were slid their way and Trevor shot Michael a silent nod, downing his drink in one gulp. Michael reciprocated and relished in the familiarity of fiery bitterness coating his tongue and throat, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Still, the moment didn’t last long because Michael could feel Trevor’s concerned eyes on him, and he hated the idea of worrying him, but here they were.

“Me and Amanda…” was all he could stomach to explain on only one drink under his belt, so Trevor flagged the bartender down and sent him off to get them the entire bottle of Whiskey. He knew what was up.

“I figured. This thing’s getting more and more frequent though, her kicking you out of the house. You fought before too, but…” Trevor trailed off, his eyes downcast on the bar counter and he bit his lip, actually trying to choose his words for once. Michael guessed he really must look fucked up to the outside eye if he got Trevor Phillips to be more considerate.

“Yeah, I’m waitin’ for her to throw the divorce papers in my face any day now,” he admitted with a forced laugh that lacked humor. He got his hands on the bottle the barkeep supposedly was going to hand to Trevor. But Trevor didn’t look insulted in the slightest. Only lost and helpless as to what he should say, and Michael couldn’t blame him. He had no idea what to do himself. His marriage was in shambles, unsalvageable, and his kids hated him. The only person who hadn’t left him yet, even when he’d been at his worst, was…

His eyes drifted to the man beside him, who was watching him with a scarred frown, his chin resting in his hand, but Michael swiftly looked away again, practically chugging a quarter of the bottle down himself. Christ, he must be losing his mind.

“Hey, take it easy with the liquor, cowboy. You and Amanda already talked about it, then?” Trevor asked, dancing around the word ‘divorce’ like it was forbidden to speak aloud, and Michael chuckled at his friend’s apprehensiveness, but it was kind of sweet.

“Didn’t need to. She knows _I_ know it’s comin'. And it’s not like I don’t deserve it. I’m a piece of shit, Trev,” his voice cracked on that last note, on Trevor’s name, and Michael felt his eyes stinging with tears, which he stubbornly blinked away. He didn't know what was worse; crying in public or in front of Trevor Phillips.

Trevor’s brow was pinched in a grimace, he looked like he was in pain, and Michael was causing him that pain.

_Would you take a look at that, Michael? Wherever you go, you create chaos. Whatever you touch crumbles._

“Hey, M, look, let’s book a booth instead, so I can cuss you out without gettin' us both kicked out of here. _I_ don’t give a shit about the people staring, but you don’t look like you need an audience right now,” Trevor said at a louder volume, irritation lacing his voice, and Michael scanned the room to find plenty of people ‘subtly’ glancing their way. Some snapped their heads away when Trevor glared at them. That man could put the fear of God into anyone, including Michael if he wanted to. Thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to all that often.

When Michael gave a nod of muted approval, Trevor jumped off the barstool, grabbing Michael’s wrist and yanking him to the corner of the room, where an empty booth awaited them. Michael sat down and drank some more booze, a little light-headed from going too hard too fast. He could still see the angry scarred face staring him down though, Trevor looked at him as if Michael had just spat in his face.

“You don’t get to call yourself a piece of shit, M. _I_ do. No one else,” the possessiveness in his tone had Michael questioning a lot of things, but none of which he spoke aloud. Only Trevor Phillips could cheer him up by insulting him, he thought and smiled, despite everything.

“And you are. You _are_ a piece of shit and it's good that you’re self-aware. But that doesn’t mean you _deserve_ any of this, or that you won’t ever be okay again,” explained Trevor, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, and he made grabby hands for the scotch Michael was currently holding in a vice grip. Reluctantly, Michael handed it to him, grateful that at least _one_ of them knew his limits.

“You’re being scary nice, T. That was barely an insult,” he noted aloud, watching Trevor chug down another quarter of the whiskey without as much as batting an eye. The man snickered, wiping the booze off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m tryna be a good friend here, you sack of shit. You want me to stop?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth between Michael’s, trying to read his response. Michael unabashedly took in the view of his best friend, with only a foot of space or so between them he could see every wrinkle and scar, the dirt beneath his fingernails, the split ends of his untouched hair. In every sense and aspect of it, he was a _man_. A rugged, unkempt, _manly_ man. And with his blood-stained, dirtied t-shirt and the whiff of musk Michael could catch off of him, he looked like he didn’t know what personal hygiene was. And all the same, Michael found him pleasant to look at. He found himself wanting to cup that face in his hands and trace the lines of it, to have him pinned down and moaning beneath him, but beneath that, he wanted to care for him and make the circles beneath his eyes less dark, to get him to wear more than one damn shirt a week and give him a reason to take better care of himself.

Call him optimistic, call him a fool, but he wanted to be the reason Trevor got up in the morning. To make up for their time lost and help him rebuild the bond they once had.

Now Trevor was clearing his throat to regain his attention, and Michael snapped out of his daydreams, recalling that he had been asked a question. Did he want Trevor to stop being nice? He never expected that Trevor _could_ be nice in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome.

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that. I like nice Trevor.”

“Well don’t get used to him. He’s only sticking around for tonight,” Trevor replied with a half-frown, stretching himself out in the booth to get comfy, and Michael bumped his knee lightly against his beneath the table, ignoring Trevor’s raise of eyebrows and speaking quietly: “At least I get tonight, then.”

* * *

They spent their evening at the bar, having an actual conversation and sharing stories. It was all quite pleasant, and Michael didn’t find himself thinking about Amanda at all the entire time. Sometimes, a night out with your best friend is just what you need to feel like life is okay again.

Now, though, people were clearing out of the bar and the barkeep warned them that they were closing, so Michael studied Trevor’s relaxed, unguarded posture and took a shot in the dark, suggesting that: “We should get a motel room.”

Trevor sat up straight, his eyebrows levitating up towards his receding hairline. He blinked dumbfoundedly a couple of times.

“Yeah? You wanna get out of here?”

“Just for the night. Don’t wanna go home, y’know?” Michael clarified, face burning as he realized why his line of questioning had sounded so familiar.

A flash from the past reintroduced itself, from years and years ago when young Trevor and Michael crashed in different motels in between heists just to make out and share a joint. And although that was history now, Michael wasn’t gonna go back on his word. He wanted to see where this night would take them, to know just how ‘nice’ Trevor could get.

“Arright,” the other smirked, standing up and hurriedly sprinting out of the bar, yelling at the barkeep to ‘put the bottle on his tab’ - Michael doubted it was the first time he’d done that. He joined Trevor on his bike and soon they were on their merry way to a nearby motel.

* * *

Michael sobered up a little when they gained speed on Trevor’s ride, and when they swerved past a slow driver, he almost fell off the damn thing.

“Michael. Hold on to me, _now_.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a _command_. And Michael knew it was a bad idea to disobey a direct command from Trevor. So he wrapped his arms tight around his waist and squeezed his pecs in a teasing manner that had Trevor wavering on the bike. Michael leaned over his shoulder so he could speak directly into his ear: “Better?”

“Well, yes _and_ no. You’re gonna give me a stiffy while I’m drivin’ if you keep being handsy, jackass. So if we fly off the road I’m blamin’ you,” said Trevor with no shame whatsoever, and Michael turned a deep shade of red, grateful Trevor couldn’t see his face right now.

He had only touched Trevor in an emboldened display of affection, like an impulse when already practically hugging him from behind, but he didn’t expect Trevor to be _turned on_ by it.

Still, the man’s words awakened something inside Michael that made him want to continue. To see how far he could push it.

Drunk on part indifference to his wife - who had more or less already dumped him - and part greedy lust, Michael dragged a hand up Trevor’s chest, rough fingertips grazing one nipple, and you could hear Trevor sucking in air through his teeth.

“Don’t worry, I trust you behind the wheel, T.”

Trevor gave him a warning look in the rearview mirror, and Michael would be lying if he said it wasn’t making him hot beneath the collar.

“Oh-ho-ho, you are _so_ gonna regret being such a fuckin' tease when we’re checked in,” Trevor growled back and Michael sincerely hoped that was a promise.

* * *

When they got off the bike, Trevor didn’t resort to immediately getting his revenge on Michael for being a cocktease (Michael told himself he wasn’t disappointed because of that), but instead, he waltzed inside the motel and up to the reception like he owned the damn place.

“One room with two beds, and make it snappy,” he seemed impatient - or more so than usual - and the poor snot-nosed kid behind the desk nodded hurriedly, his face pale. He fumbled to grab them a pair of room keys, and Michael almost felt bad for the poor bastard. He wondered how many rooms this guy had been scared into giving away for free. So, feeling generous, Michael made to grab him a tip from his wallet, almost missing the kid’s quiet mumbling.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Can’t hear ya through those thick braces,” Trevor teased, and the kid did speak up, if not by much.

“I- I’m sorry, sir, but there are no rooms like that available at the moment,” he spoke rushed, mostly through voice cracks, and Trevor sent Michael an amused look as if telling him they had to deal with the cliché ‘only one-bed’ trope. Michael suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Ironic. And… not completely unappealing of an idea. He shrugged back, letting Trevor make the call.

“We'll take whatever you've got, then.”

The teen behind the counter, Lucas, Michael read on his name tag, looked from Michael and Trevor back and forth a couple of times, eyes almost popping out of his head. Michael shifted his weight from foot to foot, his face hot for what- the fourth time this evening? Must be a new record. But it was nothing compared to Lucas’s expression.

“R- Right. I can get you a single room with a double bed, it’s the least I can do,” rambled the kid, knocking keys off the rack in his fuss before he finally found the right one, handing it to Trevor. It was a small, rusty key with a hand-painted number tag, 47 written on it.

“I’ll pay, this was my idea after all. You go make sure there are no jizz stains on the windows, T,” Michael urged Trevor with a snicker, and Trevor cackled at his lame joke but complied, taking off down the hallway.

“O- Oh no, t- there shouldn’t be any-!”

“Relax, kid, I was just jokin’. How much’ll the room be?” asked Michael, attempting to keep his voice as friendly as he could muster, because this kid was shaking like a leaf, and Michael wasn’t even that intimidating of a person.

“60 dollars and 99 cents, sir.”

Michael slid him a hundred bill, seeing the glee light up in his eyes.

“Keep the change, Lucas. Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lucas snatched the bill off the counter, staring at it like it was everything he’d ever wanted in life, and going: “Yessir!” and: “Thank you, sir!”

Michael nodded, eager to get back to Trevor, but before he could reach the hallway, the kid cleared his throat to get his attention.

“J- Just some advice, sir, but t- the walls…” he trailed off, hiding his face in his hands. Michael raised a brow at his fluster, unsure if he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence.

“The walls- they’re pretty t-... thin, s- so…” Lucas eventually managed, his face beet red. This had Michael speechless, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. The kid had managed to render him clueless as to what to say. He couldn’t get _mad_ at him, he knew how things looked, and besides, Michael may need that advice for later.

The keyword here is _may_.

“Noted,” was all he could come up with, turning around and making haste to room 47.


	2. The further on the edge the hotter the intensity

The room was small, as expected, with cheap furniture and barely clean sheets, but they were at a roadside motel, after all. Besides, the room wasn’t all that interesting to Michael when there was a certain eccentric lunatic awaiting him by the bed.

“Why don’tcha take a seat, Mike?” Trevor so kindly invited him, patting the space next to him. With his heart pounding loud in his chest and sweaty palms, Michael obeyed, attempting to hide his eagerness behind a neutral expression as he left a couple of inches of space or so between them. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, he wanted Trevor. _Needed_ him. He’d admitted as much himself, there was no denying it.

“Sooo… You wanna tell me what your fucking deal is?” asked Trevor with a very faked grin, looking at Michael with something in his eyes that Michael had memorized from when they met the first time after Ludendorff. Something Michael had hoped to never see again: venom. Distrust. Hostility. Suddenly, Michael was breathing fast for a whole other reason than hopeful anticipation.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, _Sugartits_ , I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been suspiciously affectionate tonight. Suggesting we get this room, touching my knee beneath the table at the bar, gropin' me on the bike…” he counted, and Michael shook his head, an oxymoron of flustered and confused. Why was Trevor mad?

“I did not _grope_ you.”

“Fine. You fondled my tit, that sound better?” snapped Trevor, and if it wasn’t for his anger, Michael would have laughed at that. Now, though, he was just concerned, trying to figure out where he went wrong tonight. Had he been too touchy? Was Trevor not into him after all?

_Of course he isn’t, he’s manipulating you. And because you fell for it, you took it too far. You made it weird._

Did he? Did Michael really just ruin the only friendship he cherished?

“I don’t get why you’re angry, T,” he attempted, voice pathetically weak. His anxiety was getting the better of him, his hands wringing in his lap and he couldn’t sit still.

“Of course you don’t! God, that’s such a fucking ‘Townley’ move! Pretending you’re all innocent and shit when you were the one makin' this a thing. Look, I know you’ve got it tough with Amanda right now, but that does _not_ , by _**any**_ fuckin' chance, give you the right **_to FUCK with me!!!_** ” Trevor almost shouted, his fists in a white-knuckled grip and his chest rising and falling quickly. He looked like he wanted to punch something, hurt prominent in his hazel eyes.

And with that, Michael connected the dots. Did Trevor think Michael was manipulating _him_? It looks like they’ve both got some trust issues to deal with, he thought. Either way, knowing Trevor wasn’t disgusted with Michael for the reasons he first thought, he exhaled a small sigh of relief.

“What’re you looking so fuckin' pleased about- Mff!” Michael cut him off by closing the space between them and taking Trevor’s face in his hands to press his lips against his. Trevor’s words died on his tongue as Michael silenced him, gently but insistently so. Trevor tasted like the whiskey they both drank earlier, and Michael swore he could kiss him for _hours_. But first, he had to clear things up. Reluctantly, he pulled an inch back, leaning his forehead against the other’s and meeting his wide eyes. Any fury that might have occupied them before had now completely vanished, and surprise had taken its place. Not many people got the luxury of seeing Trevor caught off guard, so Michael drank it in, relishing in it.

“I am _not_ fuckin' with you, you idiot. Yeah, I’m sad me and Amanda didn’t work out, and I _did_ call you because I needed a friend, but I’m not just tryna rile you up for fun. I…”

Trevor’s eyes begged him to say it, and Michael’s emotions were taking over all other senses, too much for him to keep it all in, so he went out on a whim, saying the words he’d been scared of saying to this man his entire goddamn life: “I love you, man.”

There. Now the cards were all on the table. The only thing Michael could do now was to see if Trevor would fold or not.

At first, Trevor only stared at him, seemingly in a state of shock, all while Michael was holding his breath, his heart in his throat, and then, Trevor jerked back like he’d been slapped.

“You…” he began, but then he lost his voice, his scarred lips shaping sounds that wouldn’t come out.

“Yup. I know, I must be fuckin' nuts, right?” joked Michael in an attempt to snap Trevor out of it and simultaneously calm his own nerves. He was terrified that Trevor might bolt for the door. If he did, Michael wasn’t sure if he had the guts to go after him.

“Say something, T,” Michael pleaded, desperate now to know that Trevor didn’t hate him, that he didn’t just fuck this all up, and he cautiously reached out to lay his hand atop Trevor’s. Finally, Trevor moved, straddling his lap, tilting Michael’s head up and stealing his breath as he crooked his neck to kiss him.

_So he did fold, at last._

Michael’s arms came around Trevor’s waist, skirting down his back and slipping beneath his off-white tee to gain access to his hot, tanned skin, and Trevor hummed against his lips, kissing him with a fervor and an intensity that had built up from the moment they were reunited after Ludendorff. He tasted like booze and cigarettes and Michael was parched for it. He’d missed this more than he let on. _God_ , how he’d missed it.

Slow, languid kisses quickly turned heated, Trevor delving into Michael’s mouth with his experienced tongue, kissing him senseless. The air was charged with electricity and it was _so_ good but Michael had to breathe. He pulled away and tried to gather his composure, but it was impossible with that soft, unguarded look on Trevor’s face. His eyes were glazed over and he licked his lips, which had Michael growing hard in a matter of seconds. It certainly didn’t help, either, that Trevor was planted right in his lap, his ass sitting dangerously close to Michael’s groin.

“You know you’re in deep shit, right? If you don’t wanna go any further you gotta tell me _now_.”

Michael was pretty sure he was going to _die_ if Trevor didn’t continue right now. So all he could do was shake his head, and Trevor dove back in, pushing Michael’s blazer off and mumbling something about him ‘wearing too many fucking layers’.

“You know me, I like my suits,” chuckled Michael, but his retort turned into a groan as Trevor grinded down against his clothed dick, fully aware of the effect he was having on Michael because the fucker was smiling. Michael fisted his hands in Trevor’s shirt, hissing at the friction when he bucked his hips up to meet Trevor’s.

He could feel Trevor’s length against his stomach. He was just as hard as Michael was.

“I do know ya. Should still know just what you like, too. Gonna make you see stars if you let me, Sugar,” promised Trevor, low and throaty and dripping in lust, and Michael had to suppress a moan at the mere promise of that.

“Fuck, T, you’ve got a way with words,” he breathed, but Trevor was done speaking for the moment, pushing Michael down onto the squeaky mattress and standing up to tear his own shirt off. Michael made to get up and help, but Trevor kept him down with one palm splayed across his chest, tutting him.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, Sweetheart. I’m calling aaall the shots here.”

Part of Michael wanted to wipe that cocky smile off his face and pin him down beneath him on the bed, but right now? He wanted to be fucking _devoured_ by Trevor. Taken apart piece by piece and then being repaired only to do it over, and over...

He scrambled back to lean against the headboard, delighted when a shirtless Trevor bestowed him the honor of having him in his lap again, kissing down his neck as he began unbuttoning Michael’s dress shirt. Michael made a valiant attempt to help, but when Trevor sucked on a sensitive spot just above his collarbone, his fingers found purchase elsewhere, in the comfort of Trevor’s receding hair, a gasp slipping from his mouth.

Finally getting the last button on Michael’s shirt, Trevor grinned in triumph and pulled it off entirely, throwing it to the other side of the room. Michael had no time, or _reason_ for that matter, to feel self-conscious, since Trevor was grinning deviously at him, drinking him in with his eyes and looking pleased as punch. He pecked Michael once on the lips, then trailed his kisses down his jawline and neck, all the way down to his chest. The combination of his hot breath ghosting Michael’s skin and his hand now sneaking down to feel Michael up through his slacks had Michael choking out a loud moan, a sound that was unfamiliar to his own ears. He clasped a hand over his mouth, embarrassed, but Trevor growled in approval, purring against Michael’s skin: “Yess Baby, let me hear those pretty noises of yours.”

It was then that Michael remembered the receptionist, Lucas’s warning words: ‘The walls are pretty thin’. So now he was torn between abiding Trevor’s request and being reckless, and keeping it slightly down to avoid having people knock at their door with complaints. The concept of that alone had him snickering.

“What’re you laughin' about?”

“Nothing. Hey, hold on, lemme see you,” Michael beckoned, wanting nothing more than to hear Trevor moan for a change and to _touch_ him. Trevor leaned back slightly to give Michael permission to eye him up, and Michael gratefully took it. Even though they both had aged, Trevor looked as beautiful as Michael remembered, scars and ugly tattoos and all.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, and the answering look of Trevor’s was one of disbelief, he clearly hadn’t expected _that_. So Michael thought he could make sure Trevor knew it was the truth.

Finally getting his hands on Trevor without him slapping them away, he let them splay across his chest, giving a slight tug on the chest hair dusting his skin (picking up on the little moan that grazed his ears when he did it), gliding down his flat stomach and over the harsh V-lines sculpted there. He looked back up into Trevor’s eyes, which were wide and filled with emotion, and he kissed him, slow and deep. His hands skated around Trevor’s waist and plunged beneath the waistline of his dirty jeans, squeezing his perfect, still just as tight ass. With a surprised groan, Trevor rolled their hips together, his nails raking down Michael’s back and leaving little red trails in their wake as a memento of the occasion. Michael was so hard he could combust, but he was determined to make Trevor just as disheveled as he was first, and he was on his merry way, with Trevor panting into his mouth. He took Michael’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled back slightly, pressure edging on painful in a warning.

“Didn’t I say _I_ was the one calling the shots?”

He expertly unbuckled Michael’s belt to get his hands on him, and Michael let out a grunt as Trevor palmed his bulge through his trousers, his head dropping into Trevor’s shoulder.

“You still are, but- _fffuck_ , T! - you gotta let me touch you too,” he huffed, his hips meeting Trevor’s hand and a hand of his own finding Trevor’s erection, straining against his zipper.

“Fuckin' clothes…” Trevor snarled, and he made a good point, so they helped each other out, and soon enough, they were both completely nude. Michael paused for a moment, taking in the view of Trevor in all his glory, all toned muscle and tanned skin, his dick flushed a shade of red, slightly curved upward and leaking at the tip. Michael let out a belated sigh, knowing that if he died right now, he’d die happy. Only his hard-on said otherwise.

“See something you like?” Trevor teased, his arms coming around Michael’s neck as he sat across his lap, confident in his ability to woo Michael, and with every right to be.

“You know I do. God, you look stunning.”

Trevor still got that funny look in his eye every time Michael complimented him, but this time he was quick to reply: "You’re not so bad yourself.” They exchanged more sloppy kisses, more teeth and urgency in them, but it was no less hot, with Trevor grinding down against Michael and Michael digging his fingers into his slim hips, drawing low moans and gasps from the other. Every touch they shared, each hot, slow slide of their dicks pressing together pushed Michael further to the edge.

“T, fuck, I dunno how long I’m gonna last,” he alerted Trevor, who got a glint of excitement in his eyes. What was he planning?

“Okay, okay I’ve got an idea. C’mere baby, gonna show you something amazing.”

And how could Michael possibly turn that down? These pet names were making him even more aroused (if that was even _possible_ ) and when Trevor lined their cocks together and wrapped his palm around them both, he almost blew his load then and there.

“Christ, T, that..” he lost his ability to speak when Trevor squeezed them both around the tip, their bodies rocking together with each flick of his wrist. His cock pressed against Trevor’s, the slight difference in shape and thickness, the callouses on Trevor’s fingers stroking them both up and down was insanely hot, and Michael lost himself in the pleasure, tilting his head back against the headboard.

“That feel good?” Trevor purred, and Michael nodded, but it wasn’t enough for Trevor, who stilled his hand, and Michael made a tiny, bereft noise at the lack of friction.

“Speak up, Mikey.”

“Y- Yes! You feel so fucking good Trev, now _please_ , would you get me off?”

“Since you asked so nicely, yes,” he agreed, working up a fast pace and arching his back as he fucked himself into his hand and against Michael’s cock. Michael was like in a trans, fixated on Trevor and holding onto him tightly, his own hips coming up to meet Trevor’s hand. The telltale signs of Trevor getting close started to show, his face pinched in an intense expression, sweat beading his brow, and his thighs trembling, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and uncoordinated. He was moaning like a whore now (after all this time, the poor receptionist’s advice had been in vain), but damn if it wasn’t the hottest thing Michael had ever heard - and _seen_.

The filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin, panting and the bedsprings creaking filled the room. Trevor was nearly sobbing now, groaning Michael’s name in warning, so Michael took over, relieving Trevor of a bad hand cramp and taking both their erections in hand, stroking them up and down and dipping a thumb into Trevor’s slit, coaxing more precum drizzling out and earning a sob from Trevor, who buried his face in Michael’s shoulder.

“You close, Darlin’? Wanna come for me? Hmm?” he urged, and Trevor nodded, breathing hot against Michael’s skin.

“Yes, yes, yes, so close Mikey! God, I love you, Michael, love you so fuckin' much,” Trevor rambled, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses onto Michael’s neck, and that just about did him in. Michael came with a shout, eyes squeezing shut and stars dancing across his vision as he shot ribbons of white across their stomachs, and Trevor wasn’t far behind, thighs spasming and his eyes rolling back into his head as he climaxed, muffling a scream by biting down on Michael’s neck.

With a broken moan, Michael let go of their sensitive dicks, sweeping Trevor into a loose hug as they came down from their high together, spent and very, _very_ fulfilled.

“Fucking Christ,” he mumbled, a breathy laugh escaping him when Trevor allowed himself to sag against Michael’s chest, entirely limp but hugging Michael right back, his face still resting in the crook of Michael’s neck. It wasn’t like Michael minded, Trevor could _live_ there if he so wanted to and that’d be just fine by him.

“Told ya I’d make you see stars,” Trevor panted, and he technically wasn’t wrong. Michael felt his heart surge and his breathing pick up again when he thought of what Trevor had said, just before they came. He nudged Trevor in the side and got him to look up, and he took his face in his hands, pulling him into a lazy, slow kiss.

Trevor sighed into his mouth, sounding content, and Lord knew Michael was, too. He wasn’t sure how or why, but all of his problems seemed so far away when he was here in this moment with Trevor, who loved and cherished him despite his selfishness and many flaws. His mind was blissfully empty, too, no self-destructing thoughts bothering him, only solace.

When they parted, Trevor’s pupils were blown so wide you could just see a ring of his irises, his lips kiss-swollen and slightly parted.

“You love me,” Michael said, more to confirm it aloud again than anything, and Trevor shot him an open, honest smile. It was a genuine one that had Michael’s heart aching in his chest.

“I do. And you _need_ me,” he was referring to what Michael had told him when he called him earlier this evening, and Michael shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Maybe I do. Would that be so bad?”

“I don’t think so. Do you regret it?” Trevor asked, voice quiet, and he looked serious, _concerned_ , as if wondering if this was only a one-time thing. And Michael _definitely_ did not want it to be. They could talk more about it in the morning, about where to go from here (and how to explain the noise to the receptionist…), but for now, Michael caressed Trevor’s cheek with his thumb, leaning in to place a kiss atop his forehead.

“No. Not one bit, T.”

And Trevor seemed content with that, pulling back to get off Michael’s lap, and that’s when they both realized the downside to hot, sweaty, mind-blowing sex. They were both _sticky_ , and Trevor had to separate the skins of their pressed together-stomachs like a fucking band-aid, both of them grimacing at the sound and feel of it.

“Okay, this isn’t working, I’m taking a shower,” Michael announced. He had a hunch that Trevor would rather just dry himself off with his t-shirt, but it was certainly worth a shot.

“You comin'?” he called, nodding to the bathroom, and Trevor almost tripped over his own feet getting up to join him.

* * *

They washed off together in the tiny shower, not small enough to be claustrophobic, but just enough for the two of them to fit snugly together. The feeling of cooling waterdrops hitting Michael’s overheated skin while he exchanged gentle, chaste kisses with Trevor was nothing short of euphoric. When they were both clean and dry out of the shower, Michael fetched his boxers - which had somehow landed on the fucking bedpost. However, Trevor stopped him before he could put them on.

“Ah, no. I don’t think so. You’re gonna have sex with me and then rob me of the post-coital nude cuddling experience? How rude of you, M.”

Michael had plenty of problems with that sentence. First off, was post-coital nude cuddling a thing? And if so, how had he not heard of it until now? secondly, how the fuck does Trevor not know what a lorry is but he knows the word ‘post-coital’? and last but not least, Trevor wanted to _cuddle_ with him?

Michael’s mind short-circuited for a moment before he dropped his underwear back onto the floor, silently praying that there would be no room service here in the morning, (although it was highly unlikely, with the prices this motel had) and joining Trevor in bed, draping a tired arm around him and making himself comfortable. Trevor snuggled into his side, pressing lazy kisses all over his face, and Michael’s heart melted at how soft he was being. He seemed completely at peace, a dopey grin on his face and his eyelids drooping. So Michael returned the kisses, dropping them across his cheeks, nose, eyelids, and finally, his lips.

“I love you, Trevor Phillips,” he whispered, and Trevor responded, not missing a beat: “I love you too, Mikey whatever-your-last-name-is.”

“Townley. Sounds better like that anyway,” Michael decided, and Trevor yawned, humming happily in response. He rested his head upon Michael’s chest, his breathing deepening, and Michael felt his own exhaustion catch up with him, pulling him under quickly. And right before sleep came, Michael couldn’t help but smile, knowing he’d made the right decision in calling Trevor tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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